What may I dream: a requiem for the battered psyche
by Red Gage
Summary: Who are you? More accurately, what made you who you are? Are you a product of environment, of fate, or is your soul shaped by your own two hands; the metal of your resolve forged in the flames of your experiences? Can you escape who you are, what you are... be it Sinner, or Saint...Man, or Monster? I guess we'll find out.


So, yeah. I've never actually published any of my prior works, but I was….shall we say "strongly" urged to post this one of as a way to get past my (valid) insecurities. I'm not the most prolific writer, nor the best looking… or the most talented…. Ya know, I think I'm talking myself out of this… Oh well. Look, I think this may be a good concept, so whether you hate it, or love it, please tell me. With enough positive reviews I may end up actually devoting some time to this. Though, as it stands, I'm not going to alter the original formatting since it could turn out to be a huge waste :P If this story picks up then it'll definitely be something I tackle later. So, without further ado…

-Gage Nevers Acostarse

Chapter 1: Rude Awakenings

Gently rolling over there's a sense of moist warmth. "What the hell..?" cursed Nick groggily as he sat up in disgust. His sleep filled mind staggering to its wakened state as he sniffs the air "I haven't wet the bed since I was…What the hell is that smell?" His eyes snapping open as his hand comes up to cup his nostrils. The smell now beginning to permeate everything as he gazes down at his crimson hand in disgust, and then with sudden, shear shock, he realized it was everywhere. Blood- rich, creamy, red blood; It was soaked into the sheet, into his clothes and even his skin, staining al that is touched, as if it were liquid sin. He jumps out of the sheets, tangling himself in the red sticky, red mess as he falls flat onto the floor. Stumbling to situate himself he stands, fully alert as he quickly glances around his apartment. It all seemed so surreal; beyond his now-crimson soaked sheets his apartment was as usual, nearly immaculate in its keeping. Though, oddly enough everything had an untouched look, the contents of the room had all been covered in a thick layer of dust. It had looked as if no one had been here in decades. His eyes fell to the bedside table, where a picture of himself and his beloved fiancé lay. Melira, no one else in the entire world meant more to him… No one else was permitted to even enter his dwellings "Melira…" he whispers, his voice quaking with panic, as he turns to the blood soaked bed, the sheet dry and crusted around his feet. Panic fills his eyes as he sprints out of the room, dashing from the bedroom to the small kitchenette adjacent to it, shouting "Melira!" as he does. From the dining room to the den and from the den to the living room he runs, calling out desperately for his love as he feels his chest slowly constrict, as if his very being were collapsing upon itself. And in the midst of his self-tormenting panic, he heard that damning sound. Bang. The sound of metal colliding with metal rang throughout his home as he turned to the door, caught off guard by the odd chill that ran down his spine. Bang. There it was again...what could it be…Melira? With haste he approaches the door, not giving a damn about his lack of modesty in stepping outside, he opens the door. It was as if the outside world had died in his sleep. All there was, was darkness; the street lamps lining his apartment walls seemed to be fighting a losing battle with the heavy fog and shadow that crept to his home. Though through all this, he only saw one thing. Melira, bound in chains, following a hooded man clad in all black. He called out to them both, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" his rage almost directionless as he steps towards the stairway leading down to the ground. As he takes his first step, the man in the hood turns to face him. Shadow hides his face, except for the predatory smirk which seemed to spread on forever across his lips. "Come now, child. We've many games to play…" His voice was smooth as razor wire, and just as cold as the steel from which it was shaped. Yanking on the chain which held his love he begins to stroll into the creeping darkness of an encroaching fog. Lifting his hand he idly snaps his fingers and so steps forth the beast. A hulk of a man, easily topping seven feet, lurched forth from the mists. As he began his approach, a most shrill cry ever assaulted Nick's ear, the sound of the rusted and jagged blade tearing away at the ground, as the great man's massive knife dragged across the concrete, leaving a jagged wound across the earth. However, as gruesome as he may have looked- covered in blood and scars- nothing could match his face. For he lacked exactly that, mounted upon his shoulders was an enormous metal, red pyramid. Hiding any features that might convince a witness he was a man. And so, there stood Nick, petrified by his own fears as the beast cocks back his arm, and before he had even the slightest chance of reacting, the great knife was slicing through the very air towards him. Thump. The dull sound seemed to be so far off in the distance; he seemed to be a third party merely watching these mad events take place. But reality has a bad habit of smacking the delusional in the face, for as he gazed down he could see the massive, jagged blade embedded in his belly.

Nick shot out of bed, sitting up in the disheveled mess of clean blankets as his bloodshot eyes furiously scanning the room for Melira, or that damned grinning man… And with that thought the night's dream rushes back to him. Nick's hands quickly grab his flat stomach, feeling across his abdomen as he panics, remembering how vividly he could feel he jagged edges of the blade cutting through the meat- "Stop." He commands himself, running a hand through his hair as he shifts off of the bed. Walking out of the bedroom and into the adjacent shower, he attempts to dismiss the nightmare as a mere fancy; just another nightmare to add to the list. With a bitter chuckle, he groggily strips off his last bits of clothing and steps into the shower. As the near boiling water cascades across his olive skin, he sets his head against the wall- leaning into it- relaxing under the familiar comfort of the pain. Closing his sleepless eyes he can't help but laugh, muttering his own small curses to the world- "I've got enough problems as is," Lazily turning off the flow of steaming water, he hisses in slight discomfort as his skin loses its slight numbness; now replaced with the burning ache of events passed. "Why make more?"

Chapter 2: Doors best left closed

Stepping out of the bathroom, a pair of loose, ragged jeans hanging from his hips and a damp towel dangling from his shoulders, Nick exits the steamy bathroom. Stifling a late yawn, he yells across the apartment, "Mel, where you at?" Only silence greeted him; where had she gone? Wandering into the kitchen, thoughts of the previous day's nightmare nagging at the edges of his conscious thoughts, he swings open the fridge. Grabbing a can of Coke, Nick leans back against the dark marble countertops as he admires the quaint, but very comfortable dining area. His eyes stroll across the beige walls, Melira's choice, to the hideous yellow curtains draped over the sink- Again, hers. He chuckles, downing the entire can as his eyes trail, lastly, to the plains, white refrigerator. Coughing up most everything he had just drank, his eyes watered as fiction slowly transformed to fact in front of his eyes. For hanging there, on the homely, plain fridge, was a herald of things to come and none of them good. Scrawled across a neatly folded sheet of clean paper was something he ever so desperately wished to never hear; especially from someone like her…

"Hey, Nick

I got a call from your Mom last night. I don't see what your problem with her is. Any who, she invited us over (Seeing as it IS your birthday!) and her and I have never actually met. Since you're so rude and never want to talk about you're home own, anyway it's a long drive and I should really get going before you wake up. See you in Silent Hill ;P

Happy Birthday, Honey! XOXO"

Grabbing a freshly washed tank top from the couch back he dresses himself, he practically sprints to the exit. With a heavy leather jacket draped over his shoulder, Nick is out the door- car keys in hand- before his phobias en corpus hits the ground. How could something so small ever bear such weight?

Coarse, raucous music fills the night air of the highway. Downing yet another Monster, Nick glares down at the electric clock with blood shot eyes; the device read 10:27. With a bitter grin, he tosses the empty can out the open sunroof over his head. He had been driving for six hour straight, and with only thirty minutes to go before he was going to have to face a past he had intended to keep locked away in the closet of the deep-south, till the entire world was to weary with age to care. Shoving his unkempt, tangled mess of dark locks out of his face for the ump-teenth time since his departure, he growled "Dammit, can't this thing go any faster?" Glaring down at the speedometer he sighs in distain. Only 105. Pushing all his frustrations to the back of his haggard mind, he continues he seemingly endless staring contest with the infinite darkness in front of him; his will unwavering, as he continues his crusade down into his own personal abyss.

Here, dear reader is where our story of Heaven and Hell begins.

May our hero rise from perdition.

God bless.

And so the single most chilling landmark of dear Nicholas' life appeared before him. God must have a sense of humor; it's as if the hands of time were running in reverse for this sole moment, as if he were reliving that day- five years ago, on his eighteenth birthday- when he left this shithole of a town. In front of him was the physical manifestation of his rite of passage into adulthood, and thus into a life of his own. Just as it is now his own door to the abysmal past, the gates of Inferno. In front of him there lie a rusted, faded, and now purposeless sign along the right hand side of the road. Its grimy white letters seemed to almost taunt him as they faded in and out of sight. Disappearing, only to appear once more in a matter of seconds; camouflaged in the thick, greasy grey fog swirling ominously at the edge of a spectral border which the decrepit marker seemed to support. And so, much like Dante as he entered Hell, Nick gazed upon the sigh, "Welcome to Silent Hill!", only to leave it behind in a mere instant.

As you can likely determine, I am rather new at to this (Lul N00b formatin'), and would appreciate any criticisms this community can offer. Also, as you may have noticed there are some biblical allusions throughout this small snippet; I would like to inform you- simply to not prance on anyone's toes- that I am NOT a religious individual, and nor am I closed minded (Not that those concepts are mutually exclusive), but I find that since Silent Hill if riff with spiritual nods here and there, I found it not only appropriate, but necessary for later events in the story. Anyway, Peace.


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